


do you need me? (or do you need somebody else?)

by zeitgeistofnow



Series: cooking as an expression of bato's love [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 2000s only in the vibes were rly inspired by like pictures of my parents n me when i was a baby, Alternate Universe - 2000s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Sokka and Katara, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, F/M, FUCK the nuclear family, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash, Temporarily Unrequited Love, also lol gran gran is a wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: the apartment is small and warm, the vague smell of meat browning on the stove drifting around the dining table in the living room where bato sits. he’s across from kanna, watching her inspect her hand of cards. he bounces kya and hakoda’s baby girl- katara,droplet, a name that kya had insisted on- on his hip and she gurgles happily. her brother sokka is on the floor, playing clumsily with duplos from goodwill.“ready when you are, kanna,” he says, and katara points to the older woman and saysbuh.
Relationships: Bato & Kanna (Avatar), Bato/Hakoda (Avatar), Hakoda & Bato & Kya (Avatar), Hakoda/Kya (Avatar)
Series: cooking as an expression of bato's love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858732
Comments: 79
Kudos: 169
Collections: Bakoda Fleet Week 2020





	do you need me? (or do you need somebody else?)

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for day one of bakoda fleet week- modern au and with kids! the title is from _do you need me_ by claud

The apartment is small and warm, the vague smell of meat browning on the stove drifting around the dining table in the living room where Bato sits. He’s across from Kanna, watching her inspect her hand of cards. He bounces Kya and Hakoda’s baby girl- Katara,  _ droplet,  _ a name that Kya had insisted on- on his hip and she gurgles happily. Her brother Sokka is on the floor, playing clumsily with Duplos from Goodwill. 

“Ready when you are, Kanna,” he says, and Katara points to the older woman and says  _ buh.  _

“Gran Gran,” Sokka says from the floor. He throws a Duplo block at Bato’s shoe. They’re his old docs, scuffed on the sides and at the toes from wearing them since college. The laces are purple and Sokka’s been fascinated with them since he was old enough to crawl over to Bato. 

Kanna finally selects two cards to add to Bato’s crib and slides them over to where he put his cards. “You young kids are so impatient,” she tuts, cutting the deck. Bato laughs.

“We’re not kids anymore and you’re not as old as you’d like us to think.” He flips over the top card: a Jack of hearts.

“Two for his heels.” Bato jumps his peg two spots and Kanna looks sourly at the game board. Bato’s pegs are silver metal from Target, unique among the wooden multi-colored ones that came with the game board. Hakoda bought him them for Christmas one year, despite being the only one of the four adults in the house who didn’t play the game. 

“Your luck is suspicious,” Kanna says. The tally of games won by each of the three is on the chalkboard in the hallway and Bato is winning by… he thinks it’s three games now. It used to be more but Kya had a string of good games against Bato and her mother-in-law.

“My luck is natural,” Bato replies.

Kanna sighs. “Seven,” she says, laying down a seven of spades.

Bato lays down an eight. “Fifteen for two,” he says, and moves his peg again.

“Twenty-four. A run for three,” and Bato moves Kanna’s peg three spots forward.

“Thirty,” Bato drops his six on the table and Kanna frowns at the two cards in her hand.

“It’s a go.” 

Bato moves his peg forward again. They play through the rest of the round- Kanna comes out a spot ahead before Bato plays his crib, but by the time they shuffle again he’s a solid seven points ahead. 

“You’re off your game tonight, Kanna,” Bato comments, watching her shuffle expertly. 

Sokka shrieks from the ground and wanders over to tug on Bato’s khakis. “Gran Gran,” he insists, and Bato laughs.

“You’re off your game, Gran Gran,” Bato corrects. Sokka goes on his tippy-toes to boop his little sister’s nose and Katara watches his chubby toddler fingers with wide open eyes. 

Kanna watches her grandchildren with the kind of open contentedness that Bato only sees around the kids or when she wins a particularly devastating game of cribbage. She never really talks about what her life has been like- Bato’s sure that those stories are saved for her son and no matter how long he sleeps on their couch, he will never quite be family- but Bato knows that she’s lived through more than Bato would conceptualize, that it’s left her guarded. 

He also knows that she’s left a string of broken hearts behind her. He’s seen pictures in photo albums with graying edges of her with countless men whose names Bato doesn’t recognise, draped in glass diamonds and a glowing smile. She used to regale them with the more trivial stories of her younger years and Bato remembers being rather young and dreaming of growing up to be her, smart and beautiful, men falling over themselves to talk to him. 

He grew up, of course, and he had his travels to cure himself of any delusions of grandeur he might have had about who he wanted to be. Uncle Bato suits him fine. 

“It’s just my back,” Kanna says after a moment. “I’m getting old and all those years of bending over supper has finally gotten the best of me.”

Bato laughs. “Everything in those kitchens is made for short people, aren’t they.”

“It’s a ploy,” Kanna agrees, “make you bend over and mess up your back so that when you’re old like me you can’t straighten up to your full height. Hakoda’s so lucky he got his father’s height.”

“My grandmother had her counters custom built for her height,” Bato says. “She was just a few inches taller than average and hated the idea of making herself shorter for anyone. When she got old and shrunk, though…”

Kanna laughs, graying hair flying away from her face in whisps. “That’s what you get for being stubborn as a woman in those days, innit.” Her laughter fades into a sigh after a moment. “Hoo, boy. Yep. You know, if we’re sharing stories…”

Bato readjusts Katara and fixes her hair from where Sokka had raked his hands through it. He hums attentively. Katara says,  _ buh.  _

“When I was younger,” Kanna says, “I fell in love.”

Bato thinks of the men in photo albums, careful cursive on the back of the photographs detailing their names and the date. He looks at the betrothal necklace still tied around Kanna’s neck. He thinks about Hakoda and Kya in the kitchen, the quiet murmur of inside jokes drifting into the living room- some of them Bato is in on, some of them he isn’t.

“She was the wife of a man I knew from my husband’s work,” Kanna continues, catching Bato’s eye and refusing to break contact. Bato stares back at her soundlessly, still bouncing Katara and letting her play with his hands, grasping at the rings he wears. 

_ She,  _ he thinks. He didn’t- he didn’t know. Didn’t even occur to him. Kanna knows he’s gay, Hakoda does, Kya does. Bato thinks that, on some level, Sokka does. It’s no secret, but it’s not something Kanna brings up. It certainly wouldn’t be Bato’s first choice for discussion, either. Kanna picks up on more than Hakoda ever does and Bato could go his entire life without  _ that _ conversation. “What was her name?” he finally asks.

“Yugoda,” Kanna says, staring absently at Sokka. “I’m sure she is still living happily with her husband now and that is all I could wish for her.” Her gaze turns back to Bato. “I lied earlier: there isn’t much of a story here, and certainly not one I’d like to talk about before I’ve had something to drink. All to say, though, that I understand you,” a long pause, “and that some stones are better left unturned.”

Bato smiles dryly, thinking of Hakoda's laugh, his smile, the way his eyes gleam under streetlights late at night. “That stone of mine is glued to the ground, Kanna, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Oh, I do, I do.” Kanna smiles back at him. “In another life, perhaps I wouldn’t. As it stands…” She shuffles the deck one last time and holds up a card, ready to deal. “Play another round, Bato?”

He pushes his chair out, careful not to squish any of Sokka’s tiny fingers. “I’m going to go help Kya and Hakoda out in the kitchen, I think. We can finish the game after dinner.”

“Ah, dinner,” Kanna smiles at the doorway to the kitchen. “It does smell good. I’m sure Kya and Hakoda will appreciate your assistance. I can take Katara for you.”

Bato doesn’t particularly want to part with the little girl- she’s been glued to him almost all day, from when he woke up early-early in the morning to get her dressed in her onesie before her cooing turned to wails that would wake her parents to now- but she’s Kanna’s granddaughter, not Bato’s. He hands her over, watching Katara immediately snuggle closer to her Gran Gran. 

He scoops Sokka up a moment later and the three-year-old wraps both arms around Bato’s neck. With Sokka this close Bato can hear the quiet noise of teeth against plastic and he wrestles the boy away from him, holding him by his armpits in the air. “Sokka!” He coos, wiggling Sokka. Sokka giggles. “What do you have in your mouth,” Bato continues, still using the cooing voice that makes Sokka laugh.

Sokka sticks out his tongue, showing off a rough shard of Duplo. Bato’s stomach flips. If he had swallowed that- but he didn’t. It’s fine. Uncle Bato to the rescue. 

“Spit it out,” Bato says. His voice is harsher than he means it to be and Sokka squeaks nervously before spitting the plastic onto the table next to the cribbage board. Bato presses Sokka back against his side, experimentally testing if his hold is safe enough to grab the plastic piece with his other hand. Sokka wraps his arms around Bato’s neck again and doesn’t fall when Bato takes the Duplo.

“Sorry I got angry there, bud,” he says, booping Sokka’s nose. Sokka boops Bato’s nose back.

“‘S okay.”

“You just can’t put sharp things in your mouth. You might get hurt.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be able to save me,” Sokka says, like he’s explaining something to his little sister, face furrowed and voice imperious. Bato sighs.

“I won’t always be here with you, kiddo. Someday your mommy and daddy won’t need me anymore, and I’ll go back to my work.” It’s an inevitability that Bato doesn’t like to think about too hard. This moment, this life, feels like what he was meant for, but it’s painfully clear from his makeshift bedroom in the living room that this situation is temporary. Uncle Bato lives with Hakoda’s family until Sokka and Katara are old enough to not need a babysitter without back pain while Kya and Hakoda are at work. 

“As a writer!” Sokka says, obviously having comprehended nothing Bato has said. They hover in the middle of the living room, their walk to the kitchen halted. Bato supposes helping with dinner can wait until he and Sokka are finished talking. “Daddy says that if I asked very nicely you’d write a story about me.”

“I would,” Bato says, “but I’m waiting on you asking very nicely.”

Sokka sighs, blowing air out of his mouth and into Bato’s face. His wolf’s tail is cute and babyish and usually comes out a few minutes after Kya puts it in, letting his hair fall loose over his face. When he sighs like this his hair flies in every direction it can manage- usually into the face of whoever is talking to him. “Uncle Bato,” he says finally, “would you  _ please  _ write a story about me being SUPER cool with a sword? And you should put Zuko in it too, ‘cause he always plays make-believe with me.”

“Of course I would write a story about my super-cool nephew and his super-cool friend! Should I write about you fighting a dragon?”

“No!” Sokka cries, banging a child-sized fist against Bato’s nose. Bato rubs at the impact spot. 

“Ow.”

“Dragons  _ aren’t  _ bad!” Sokka bellows. “They’re super cool! You can have a dragon in the story but ONLY if the dragon has a sword too and helps us.”

“Okay, okay,” Bato combs Sokka’s hair out of his face. “What will you, Zuko, and the dragon do?”

Sokka seems to consider this. “Have a playdate. All the kids at school have playdates all the time but Daddy says that Zuko can’t have a playdate here.” Bato looks sadly at Sokka and Sokka looks sadly back at him. They’ve tried to organize a playdate for Sokka and Zuko before, but his father “doesn’t like the look” of Hakoda and won’t let Zuko come over. Hakoda had been furious about the slight and Sokka had wailed when Bato had told him the news.

“Okay, kiddo,” Bato says, tickling him to make him smile again, “a story about you three having a playdate. Anyone else I should add?”

“Katara but she’s a MERMAID. And Suki! And Yue, and Gran Gran, an-” Sokka continues listing his friends and family and Bato thinks it’s safe to make his way into the kitchen. 

The apartment’s kitchen is squished, with yellowed linoleum and a warm blue backsplash. The kitchen table is round and covered in glitter glue and Bato’s novel drafts, written and gone over with Kya’s red pen and written again and gone over with Kanna’s brown pen. Their fridge boasts magnets from rock shows that Bato and Hakoda don’t go to anymore and Katara’s Well-Child developmental report from last week. 

Kya stands at the stove, browning ground beef, and Hakoda stands next to her chopping vegetables. He’s not doing too well, judging from the still-impressive stack of un-diced vegetables in front of him. 

“Bato!” He says, dropping his knife and taking his son from Bato’s arms, “I thought you’d never come relieve me from my kitchen duties.” He holds Sokka against one hip and thumb-wrestles him as he talks to Bato. He looks good, because he always does, dress shirt from work rolled up to his elbows and biceps strong underneath the translucent white fabric. He smiles at Bato like there’s nothing wrong in the world, even if the lines on his forehead show that he knows that’s not the case.

“I wouldn’t leave you hanging too long, Koda. We all know you chop vegetables about as well you braid hair.” Kya laughs and Bato smiles to himself, pleased. He’s never been known to be funny, and hanging out with toddlers all day just makes your sense of humor lamer, so he takes a quiet pride in making Kya and Hakoda laugh. Bato takes the knife and finishes chopping the onion Hakoda was working on, sending an questioning look to Kya before getting an affirmation and dumping the onion shards into the skillet. 

“I’m getting better,” Hakoda says, setting Sokka on the counter next to the sink and starting to fiddle with his hair. Sokka giggles as he sits patiently. Sokka loves his father more than anything in the world- Bato figures he can add that to the top of the list of things he and Sokka have in common. “Sokka’s been letting me practice on him. I can almost do a french braid now.” He sticks his tongue out the slightest bit and starts to carefully separate strands of Sokka’s hair. 

Bato turns back to his cutton board and takes a carrot from the pile. “How was work?” he asks Kya, voice low. 

She sighs. “Tiring. You’d be amazed what some men think is permissible. The wedding was gorgeous, though. The bride looked so happy, like the wedding really was going to be the best night of her life.”

“Did her father cry?” Bato asks. They do this every night, Bato asking questions about the event Kya catered for that day and Kya painting a picture of the wedding, the funeral, whatever it was. Sometimes Bato thinks she should have been the world-traveling author, not him. Sometimes he knows.

“Snottily,” Kya says, “and the bride’s nephew carried the ring like it would save the world when the groom put it on her finger.” She shakes her head. “The room felt electric, you know? Sad that his best man was such a creep.”

“I’ll fight him for you,” Hakoda declares, “even if I end up breaking my hand.”

“Give yourself more credit, babe,” Kya says, “you’d break his nose and your hand would escape unscathed.”

“I would BITE THE MAN’S HEAD OFF for being mean to Mommy,” Sokka declares, “and then I would band-aid Daddy’s wounds and make sure he got lots of snuggles from Uncle Bato because that’s what makes me feel better when I get hurt.”

“Oh yeah? Well, once I was all healed up from your bandaid and Uncle Bato snuggles, I would go and stop you from biting off his head!” Hakoda pauses his braid to tickle Sokka and the little boy shrieks happily. “I think that would be very gross for you.”

“Okay, well, I would get my DRAGON to bite his head off.”

Bato finishes chopping the carrots into neat triangles and starts to shuffle around for their dutch oven to start the actual soup on. Hakoda and Sokka babble over each other, both describing more and more elaborate ways they would destroy the man for being rude to Kya. Kya watches them for a moment, an unvoiced laugh dancing across her face, before turning back to Bato. 

“Thanks for getting the pot,” she says, scraping the onions and meat into it and watching as Bato pours handfuls of chopped carrots on top of them.

“No problem,” Bato says, dusting his hands together to get rid of the last few carrot slivers. “You’re the chef, I’m just gonna do anything to make it all easier for you.”

Kya smiles warmly and the kitchen glows, blessed with her affection. “You’re a lifesaver, Bato. I can’t imagine what Hakoda and I would do without you.”

“We’re a packaged set,” Hakoda says happily, fingers still tangled in Sokka’s hair. He’s the picture of the perfect husband, everything about him warm and inviting. Seeing him like this makes Bato want to bury his face in the other man’s shoulder, to hold him and never let go. To have and to hold, but not in this lifetime. “You marry me and you get Uncle Bato, a far better husband than I’d ever be.”

Bato laughs, because the notion of Bato ever being a better husband than Hakoda is absurd. Kya laughs too, leans forward across the cramped kitchen to kiss her husband. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, babe. Although, I admit, if Bato wasn’t gay…”

Bato makes a face and tosses the next few carrots he has to chop in his hands. “You don’t have to finish that sentence, Kya. I’m married to my work.”

Kya laughs again. “Your novel, of course. You know, I don’t believe that you never met a handsome young man in your travels.”

“You’re right, I met quite a few. Rich men, poor men, men who charmed me with gemstones and tickets to the opera.” Another of their games. Kya asks about Bato’s years abroad and Bato twists fanciful stories about lives he didn’t choose, men he left in the early morning. Hakoda watches their storytelling with a look on his face that Bato can never quite decipher. He gave up trying years ago. “But, as I said, my one true love is my muse.” He was always too attached to a man back home, one with a wide smile and a high school sweetheart with a laugh like bells.

Kya rolls her eyes and stirs the pot. “Of course, of course.”

“Of course,” Bato agrees, his knife slicing circles of orange down onto his cutting board. 

“Ta-da!” Hakoda says, holding Sokka in his arms and presenting the boy to Kya and Bato. Sokka’s undercut is french braided, loops of hair sticking up in odd places. He grins widely at the pair, showing off his baby teeth. His father mirrors his expression. 

“Incredible, dear,” Kya says, “you’re a master.”

Hakoda’s smile drops into a teasing frown. “You don’t have to humor me, beautiful. This is only a… twentieth attempt. There will be a thousand more and when our children have their prom nights, I’ll do two perfect french braids.”

Bato smiles down at his carrots. He’s not a part of this conversation anymore- the imagining of a future with them, with their children, isn’t for him. He’s here for now as Uncle Bato, and that’s enough. 

There’s a warm presence at his back as Hakoda wraps his arms around Bato’s waist, letting his hands fold together and rest at the hem of Bato’s cardigan. “Bato,” he hums in his ear. Bato holds very still and tries not to shiver at the warm breath at his neck.

“Yeah?” His voice comes out quieter than normal, rasping a little at the back of his throat. He doesn’t look up from his knife and cutting board, afraid his eyes will say too much if he meets Kya’s gaze.

“We’ve been apartment hunting,” Hakoda says, “and we found one that’s a four bedroom instead of three.”

“So that Sokka and Katara can have separate rooms when they’re older? That’s smart. Thinking ahead.” Bato forces a smile. “So unlike you, Koda.”

Hakoda leans away from Bato to laugh and Bato’s cells protest at the loss of contact. “No, idiot, for you. You’re young now, but soon sleeping on the couch will give you a worse back than my mom.” Hakoda leans back into the taller man as he talks. “It’s super cute, too, nice moulding on the walls and a sweet kitchen with a window over the sink. I think you’ll like it.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Bato says wistfully. He knows it’s still only temporary, even if he’s sleeping in his own bed instead of on the red-orange couch in the living room, but he can only sort of make himself care.

Hakoda buries his face in the back of Bato’s neck, nosing at his spine. He’s done it ever since Bato started to get taller than him when they were teenagers and the position feels safe. “It does, doesn’t it. We’re gonna keep you around, Bato. You and I are a package deal,” he says, and Bato aches. 

They stay like that for a moment before Hakoda breaks away and slings an arm around Kya’s shoulder as she sprinkles various dried herbs into their soup. She smiles up at Bato, sparkles in her eyes. “You’ll stay, won’t you, Bato?”

Bato finishes cutting the last of his carrot circles into sixths and hands her the cutting board to scrape into the dutch oven. “I’d never leave you five,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. Hakoda grins at his works and wraps his other arm around Bato, tugging his wife and his best friend close to him in a strange backward hug. 

“I love you two,” he says. The kitchen is warm with body heat and steam rising from their dinner, light pouring from the fixture above them. It smells like chicken broth and parsley. 

Bato feels home, more than he has since he was a child. He realizes that he’s made this home, just as much as Kya and Hakoda have, that maybe he’ll never have to leave it. Contentedness settles just above his collarbone.

Hakoda sighs happily, takes a step back to lean against the sink again, and says, “smells like  _ soup.” _

Next to him, Sokka bangs his tiny meaty fists against a copper pot hanging from the ceiling and shrieks  _ “SOUP.” _

Kya and Bato burst out laughing and both boys look incredibly satisfied with their impromptu comedy, identical grins spread across their faces. Bato’s laugher fades into an automatic smile, his mouth curving into happiness without a conscious thought to it. 

Some stones are better left unturned, he thinks, but they make rather good seats if you don’t think about what’s underneath them.

**Author's Note:**

> \- i am pro-uncle bato living with kya and hakoda when the kids r little (and always) because as said in the tags.. fuck the nuclear family. it's a capitalistic and colonialist construct and sokka and katara deserve a mom and a dad and an uncle and a gran gran.  
> \- the game they're playing is cribbage!! sorry if u don't know the game i'm sure that makes the first scene a little confusing :/ my parents used to play cribbage a lot when i was younger and yeah can u tell this is nostalgia for being very small. also the story abt bato's grandma having her counter custom built is something my great grandma actually did (her husband was a cabinetmaker) and now all her counters r a little to tall for her.  
> \- purple laces in the lace code are gay pride (according to my cursory google search) and like i know the lace code isn't a thing anymore but like.. i don't care. edit: i have been told that it is still a thing and that random ppl on reddit were lying to me. jsyk red and white laces (especially ladder laced?) are dogwhistles for nazis and white supremacists, respectively.  
> \- this was meant to be similar vibes of those marauders fics that are set in the year-ish before james and lily's death and it's like wolfstar and baby harry and those were my SHIT for so long and i will always love the gold-tintedness of those fics so that was my goal  
> \- i see your hakoda and bato were in the navy and like.. ok i guess it makes sense but also I HATE THE MILITARY and i think bato was a writer and he backpacked around the world for a few years after he finished school and worked on his novel and wrote letters to hakoda and kya and came home when they had kids. i also didn't mention this in the fic but hakoda is going to school for engineering while also working and it's pretty tiring so bato takes care of the kids and looks over his papers  
> \- pining bato.......  
> \- you can find me on tumblr [@lazypigeon](https://lazypigeon.tumblr.com/).  
> \- thanks for reading!! pls comment and kudos if you enjoyed this.


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